David said, "I've seen Brailford to-day, mother, and he's an old dodderer. You've got to come to Chicago with me to-morrow and see a specialist."
Then she told him, "David, I have. I went down to Peoria and I saw Dr. Winstrom there. He's as good a doctor as there is in the state, they say. He was very thorough with me, David; he saw me several times."
When David whispered, "What did he say?" she evaded and replied, "Your father doesn't know I went. I could go back and forth from Peoria in little more than an hour. He must not know I went, David. You see, my son, my son," she whispered to him steadily although she repeated some words, "Dr. Winstrom made some definite tests; he knows. He is sure and he has told me the truth. You see, there's nothing to be done for me."
"What? What?"
"No; there is nothing which any one can do."
David was on his knees beside her. She smoothed his hair. "My son, my strong son, I have told no one else, not even Deborah, who had to know when I went to Peoria. It has been my secret, David, with God."
With God! David rebelled. Where was God in this? He asked his mother, "What—what does the doctor call it?"
Her hand became quiet upon his head. "You'll go to the doctor, David?"
"The first thing in the morning."
"Let him tell you, then. I've another year, my son; perhaps not quite so long. They don't know exactly about that."
David choked and clung to her and his mother
